Onyx and Malachite
by okumori
Summary: For Thief King Bakura, coming across and kidnapping the pharaoh's second son was a rare stroke of fortune. His captive, Prince Malik, might not be so inclined to agree. Citron/Thiefshipping, somewhat AU, ancient Egypt. One-shot written for the AO3 YGO Mini Exchange.


"You call yourself a 'king' and yet you live in a dump like this?"

Gods, he wouldn't shut up. Bakura closed his eyes and counted to ten for the fourth time in an hour, mussing his long hair with a calloused hand. "As I _said_, this _isn't_ where I live! You really think I'm dumb enough to expose my actual hideout to the likes of you?"

The prince rolled his eyes. "Hmph. You sure know of some shitty places. Now that you have me, what do you plan on doing with me? Sell me for," he picked up one of the gemstone-encrusted golden cups that had spilled from the thief's bag and examined it cursorily before tossing it aside, "more of this cheap garbage?"

Bakura scrambled, managing to catch the piece mid-air before it took any damage. For being royalty, the prince sure had a commoner's mouth. It was almost as bad as Bakura's own. Maybe it came with being the second son—less expectations, not as strict tutelage.

He scowled at his hostage before carefully placing the cup back in the large sack, drawing it closed and clutching it possessively against his chest. "That's the plan," Bakura growled through gritted teeth, "and mind the merchandise, will ya? It'll sell for less if you ruin the lot."

Sighing, the prince flopped forward dramatically, sending bits of dried reed flying. He lay on his stomach for a few beats before rolling onto his back, staring up at the ceiling of their hideout: a rundown storehouse in the middle of nowhere. It probably once had housed livestock, considering the lingering stench, but it had been the only building in the small long-abandoned cluster whose walls and roof still stood mostly intact.

"I'm _so bored_!"

Bakura was almost surprised that the man did not resort to having a tantrum right there on the floor. "Apologies for the lack of entertainment, _Your Highness_," Bakura said with just a hint of venom. Talk about being pampered—couldn't the brat just sit with his mouth shut for just one moment? The prince probably didn't even know how to _exist_ alone.

"How long am I gonna have to remain like this?" came the whined reply. "You haven't even made any demands yet. Also, I'm getting hungry."

The prince looked so pathetic. The decorative markings of kohl around his eyes had smudged during the kidnapping skirmish, making the prince look like some dirty street rat, and his pale blond hair was askew at odd angles. His once-pristine shendyt was caked with sweat and desert dust. The sandals on his feet were tattered, scarlet stripes peeking out from toes and heels that hadn't ever borne such abuse. Arms were adorned with bands of hammered gold, a gorgerine of onyx and malachite draped around his neck—colors the prince's brother never wore. The sunlight streaming through breaks in the thatched papyrus overhead mottled his surprisingly tanned skin. It was such an odd contrast of majesty and unkemptness, and yet still the prince looked-

Exquisite.

That had probably been the real reason for abducting him, Bakura admitted. At first he thought he'd steal the prince away as part of payment for what had been stolen from him, all those years ago. But he'd never before laid eyes upon a creature so enchanting, and he knew that of all possessions, this would be his crowning achievement. That the prince had been out touring the same streets that the Thief King had been prowling at the same time had practically been an act from Shai himself. And never one to turn away from fortune, Bakura had seized the chance, overturning a snake charmer's basket and seizing the prince in the resulting chaos. The prince, of course, had fought and screamed the entire time, spewing curses and nearly getting them both thrown off the thief's horse, but Bakura had lived up to his title.

Prince Malik. It was an odd name to give to a son who would probably never fulfill it. Almost cruel. It was as if the prince's parents had set him up for failure, and Bakura found himself...perhaps pitying the young man.

But what in the world would he do with him now? His actions had been impulsive, and while the easiest and most logical thing to do would be to hold the prince at ransom, Bakura didn't want to give him up, either. It'd been so long since he'd experienced the pleasure of company—the mere contentment that came with another's presence (even if this current incident was forced). He'd been alone for so long, he almost didn't remember it. And while his limited time with the prince had been..._trying_...to say the least, for the strangest reason, he felt a kinship with the man across from him.

"Hey, brat," he called out, shifting his weight against the warm, crumbling mud bricks behind him, "what do you think you're worth?"

Malik pushed himself up on his elbows, his purple eyes cold and narrowed. He moved out of the curtain of sunlight, his features shadowed. But those eyes remained bright, almost gleaming in the darkness. "Just what are you trying to imply?" the prince spat icily, his voice rising in pitch. "I am of royal blood, blessed by Mehit and Horus, the son of the noble and great pharaoh Akhenamkhanen, do not _think-_"

"Second son," Bakura cut in. "One who will never rule. As it is, you're excess. Unnecessary. A prisoner of the palace." Malik had gone silent, yet his eyes still burned. Bakura continued. "If I were to return you, what then? Return to your tamed life of luxury and rot away until they trap you in a tomb to be looted by someone like me?"

"Are you trying to say life with trash like you would be any better?" Malik hissed, one arm sweeping around, "Hiding like cowards in shit-holes like this? I'd rather suffer the monotony of the court than to scratch around like some vagabond, crouching in shadows and stealing into the night. Do not forget that you live by siphoning off my father's riches."

Bakura couldn't really argue with that. But.

"There's an entire world out there, and it could be ours. I'd give it to you. We could travel underneath the Sky Nile and drink of Hathor's milk. You could be your own king, unbound." He crept closer until they were side by side. They had similar eyes, Bakura noted. Except where his were empty, dull, the prince's were alive and sharp like polished amethysts. Perhaps an injection of life was what the Thief King needed. Had been searching for, in all of his plundering.

He reached out and gently pressed fingertips along the prince's jeweled collar, tracing. "Mehit, was it? The Distant One. I was told my mother prayed to Khonsu when she was in labor, because I was born on a night of the full moon." The green and black stones beneath his touch were smooth and cool, shifting ever so slightly with the prince's steady breathing. "I don't know why, but I get the feeling that we are alike in many ways. Perhaps I was meant to be the one to give you freedom."

Malik stared directly at him, his gaze unflinching. Regal. "Are you saying that our encounter was something of fate?"

Yes, they were very much alike, Bakura decided. He licked his lips and swallowed, his throat dry. He still managed a chuckle. "Who are we to deny the gods?"

"I want food," the prince snorted, turning away, "and new sandals. Think _Your Kingship_ could deign to lift me a pair?"

Bakura grinned. The cheeky little bastard. "We leave at dusk."

* * *

><p>AN: This story was written for the YGO Mini Exchange on AO3. OperaGoose's prompt for me was: "Thief King Bakura comes across Prince Marik, the Pharaoh's second son. He kidnaps Marik (for ransom/just because he's pretty), who is suitably unimpressed with being held captive by the rogue." This was my first time writing this pairing, but I couldn't help myself - ancient Egypt-verse owns my heart. It was pretty fun! I normally default to "Marik" for the spelling, but I used "Malik" for the purposes of the narrative.


End file.
